The Link Trainer
by Ironi Numair
Summary: A young Jet has a nice Christmas for once. One-shot.


**The Link Trainer**

* * *

"It's Christmas!"

Jet burst into his parents room and leapt onto their bed, bouncing on his knees in excitement. "It's Christmas it's Christmas!"

Startled, his mother wrapped her bathrobe around herself and put her finger to her lips in warning, but too late.

"Goddamnit, Julian!" his father snarled, flinging aside the bedclothes and raising his arm as though intending to swing, "Get out of here! Some of us are trying to sleep, you little shit!"

Jet yelped, bounded off the bed and ran back out the bedroom door.

"Bernard," Savina began, not chiding, just sad, "you shouldn't yell like that, it's Christmas…"

"It's the one damn day I get to sleep in around here, and I'm going to enjoy it," Bernard Lawniczak snapped. He lie back down and pulled the blankets over his head. Savina could practically see him cross his arms petulantly beneath them.

Pulling her hair back, Savina went into the main room of their small apartment and found Jet sitting on the couch by the radio, listening to Hugo Winterhalter with his head down and kicking his little legs slowly. She knelt in front of him and gave him a kiss on the head.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

"Merry Christmas, _Mammina_."

"Don't mind your father, I know how to get him up. We'll have a nice breakfast and then go out into the city, you'll like that, won't you?"

Jet nodded but still looked forlorn. Savina tweaked him on the nose with a smile before heading into the kitchen. Within moments the aroma of sausages -rare in the apartment- wafted about the small living space and the bedroom door creaked open. Led by his long nose, Bernard emerged and walked into the kitchen.

"That smells good," he said, "Oh god, is that pancakes?"

Savina passed him a plate of sausage, eggs, and a pancake slathered in melting butter and told him not to wait for her. He sat down and was about to take a bite when he noticed Jet, still on the couch.

"What's the matter with you?" he called, "Get over here and eat."

Jet stiffened at his father's voice but then slumped back down. "There's no presents," he said, gazing sadly at the corner where the old feather Christmas tree stood alone.

"Money was tight this year, kid. You'll have to do without. Come on, your mom's made a nice breakfast for us."

Jet sighed and didn't move.

"Hey!" Bernard snapped, slapping his hand down on the table hard enough to make the cutlery rattle, "Life doesn't always go the way you want it, Julian. Thing's don't magically get better just because it's Christmas, I don't care what the radio shows tell you, you understand?"

Jet nodded.

"I said _do you understand_?"

"Yessir," Jet squeaked.

"Good." Bernard turned back to his meal and took a bite. "This is really good, Savina."

Jet's mother beamed and began to fill a plate for herself.

"On the other hand," Bernard continued, casually as though he hadn't been yelling moments before, "there is that over there." He jerked a thumb towards the end of the couch.

Jet peered over where his father had indicated. Scrambling off the couch that was still too big for him, he walked over and found a large wooden box, strangely shaped with flat pieces piled inside.

Bernard got up from the table and came over beside his son, pulling the odd contraption out from where it had been partially hidden. It was a box, big enough for Jet to sit in, with a dashboard with actual lights and dials set in, and a control grip made from a bicycle handle. The flat pieces folded out into stubby wings with functional flaps. The front end of the box was crudely carved to a point with a small prop that spun. Jet stared in awe.

"It's a plane!" he said, excited.

"It's highly simplified," Bernard explained, "but I based if off the old Link Trainer we used back when I was training to be a pilot during the war. It was for flight simulation, invented by Edwin Albert Link back in…well, I don't remember and I doubt you care."

Jet climbed into the cumbersome plane and promptly began to flip switches. Bernard tried to explain proper take-off procedures and flight mechanics to him but Jet was too busy pretending to shoot down invisible Nazi's while he slid the thing across the floor.

Eventually Bernard gave up and returned to his breakfast. "You put that away when you're not playing with it or I'll turn it into kindling, understand?"

"Thank you, Daddy!" Jet called, turning the plane and sliding it back the way he'd come.

"You _built_ him a flight simulator?" Savina said, incredulous.

Bernard shrugged and took another bite of eggs. "I had a couple of minutes to spare at work. I'm sorry I don't have anything for you."

"That's enough for me," she said, gesturing to Jet.

"Mommy, Daddy, I'm saving Britain!"

"That's nice," Bernard called with an eye roll.

"I don't have anything for you, either," Savina added.

"Are we going to go see your folks?"

"No, I thought it'd be just us tonight."

"That's the best gift you could give me." It was no secret that Bernard didn't like Savina's family and that they didn't like him in turn.

"Merry Christmas, Bernardo."

"Merry Christmas."

"Daddy! I just killed Hitler!"

"Good for you, Jules. You're a hero."

* * *

fin


End file.
